


Afraid of Making Messes

by chwe



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Designer Jeonghan, M/M, Model Seungcheol, Modeling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 00:29:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11978310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chwe/pseuds/chwe
Summary: When unrivaled model Choi Seungcheol is hired by Yoon Jeonghan's company for a photo shoot, people start to talk.





	Afraid of Making Messes

When Seungcheol wakes up, it’s with a thump, followed by a groan. He has no scheduled shoot today, allowing him to sleep in, well past eight. The floor isn’t too uncomfortable, and he knows he could probably sleep in an extra hour, but instead he gets up, scratching below his boxers with one hand and pulling the other through his hair.

 

Wonwoo is sitting at his kitchen island, glasses perched on his nose, when Seungcheol pads out to the kitchen. He doesn't look up to acknowledge Seungcheol, only continues to type on his computer.

 

"You got a pitch," he says, and Seungcheol hums, adjusting the blanket that rests on his bare shoulders. Seungcheol moves closer, peering over his shoulder with a yawn. Wonwoo scrunches his nose. "Brush your teeth and get dressed so we can talk about this like," he pauses, considering his word choice, and decides on, "functioning adults."

 

Seungcheol obliges. He showers, sitting an extra minute in the warmth, and washes his face with cold water in his sink. When he enters the kitchen again, his hair is damp and hangs over his forehead and he's dressed in loose sweatpants and a white shirt.

 

Wonwoo looks up from his screen and makes a sound of approval. He pushes a tangerine across the table, where Seungcheol catches it and sits down.

 

"So," he says, raising his eyebrows. Wonwoo grunts.

 

"Yoon Jeonghan's company emailed me. They're interested in you."

 

Seungcheol's eyebrows shoot up. Yoon Jeonghan is one of the country's most well known designers. One of his recent lines had recently taken off, resulting in the gain of huge amounts of popularity worldwide.

 

Seungcheol raises his eyebrows. "When did you submit my portfolio?" he asks, but Wonwoo shakes his head.

 

"I didn't."

 

For a moment, in the kitchen, light filtering over the dust, there's silence. Seungcheol, lost in thought, absently taps over his marble counter. Wonwoo goes back to typing.

 

"It's a photoshoot," Wonwoo says, and it breaks Seungcheol from his thoughts. "Showing off his newest line."

 

The kitchen is quiet once more. As newer models rise up (from absurd platforms, like _Instagram_ ), Seungcheol can’t help but feel threatened.

 

In reality, the idea of someone knocking Seungcheol from his current position is absurd. Seungcheol is untouchable. He's a model who's known to be unparalleled in his looks, his style, the pretty pout he pulls on and off the runway. To most people, he's known as a "God among humans", a title coined merely after his first few shoots, back when he was eighteen. Magazines review his looks as “Ethereal” and “Graceful”, a beauty that will last for centuries.

 

Regardless of his own popularity, Seungcheol has his insecurities. He feels himself droop in relief, assured with the knowledge that even new designers want him. The feeling of his popularity diminishing as the youth continues to grow fades, and his confidence renews.

 

Wonwoo quirks an eyebrow, reading into his thoughts. "Relax, Seungcheol. You're twenty two, and just shot with Gucci for your fifthteenth time yesterday."

 

Seungcheol smiles at him, and even though it feels strained, he hopes his gaze shows the gratefulness he feels towards his agent. They’d been together ever since Seungcheol started modeling, so it’s not surprising that Wonwoo can guess nearly his every thought. They react well to each other.

 

After another pause, Seungcheol straightens out his back, rolling his shoulders to stretch his muscles against the cotton of his t-shirt.

 

"Confirm the photo shoot and add it to my calendar." He pushes himself up out of his seat, tossing the tangerine absently in his hand. "Email me the details when you get them."

 

Wonwoo hums, adjusting his glasses before typing.

 

Seungcheol grabs a water bottle from the fridge and tosses it into his bag. He shakes out his fringe and grabs his bag and a towel to throw over his shoulder.

 

"I'm going to the gym," he says to Wonwoo, who hums again. With the approval, he leaves, shutting the door gently behind him.

-

The photo shoot rolls around faster than Seungcheol expects, and it feels as if time skips just for it's sake.

 

Yoon Jeonghan's company has the shoot information emailed to Wonwoo, who forwards it, as requested, to Seungcheol. He scans the spreadsheet over the day before, noting the location and time, as well as the people on set.

 

Hong Jisoo, he recognizes, is the head photographer. It's impressive, even for a successful company like Yoon's to get such a well known photographer. The name has Seungcheol humming in appreciation. Jisoo had shot with various companies around the world, his schedule flooded with different locations. Seungcheol muses; it’s incredibly difficult for a company to get ahold of the photographer, even moreso for one only just claiming it’s fame.

 

The other names are less recognizable, but the models listed are impressive. Seungcheol saves the email, along with a personal ID he’s supplied with.

 

That night, Seungcheol doesn’t eat. It’s a short time diet, one he always goes on before a major shoot. He allows himself a banana, just for the protein, but not much more.

 

Later on, when he’s washing his face (three different times), he’s careful to use all his facial products, toning and moisturizing (and rubbing tea tree oil all over his pimple-prone areas, as routine calls for).

 

He’s not tired, but he goes to bed early, even if he feels restless under the weight of his comforter, dim city lighting leaking past his shades.

-

The next morning, when his alarm goes off at eight o'clock, sharp, Seungcheol is already awake. He lays on his bed, blanket cocooned around him, for an extra minute, even with his alarm blaring beside him.

 

The energy in his room feels nervous. It’s definitely way past Seungcheol’s first time shooting for a big company, but the tension pulls his back tight, and it feels like day one. It's uncomfortable. Seungcheol can’t pinpoint why.

 

A car horn blares, cutting over the atmosphere in his room. Seungcheol rolls out of bed and showers, goes through his skincare routine, and blow dries his hair.

 

Before he knows it, it's nine thirty, and he’s just padding out of his bathroom. A text lights up the screen of his phone, Wonwoo texting him to, " _Leave now, if you want to be remotely on time._ " It has Seungcheol shrugging on a black shirt and jeans and rushing down the stairs of his building to leaning off the sidewalk so he can jog to the subway station across the street.

  


Twenty five minutes pass and lead Seungcheol to Yoon Jeonghan’s official building. It stands tall, compared to the shrunken companies around it, and reflects the morning sun in a glittering way.

 

Seungcheol pushes past the revolving doors ( _Dangerous_ , he thinks, _but_ so  _cool _),__ to a flooded reception, figures buzzing about, brushing past each other with brief greeting. He flashes his ID card to the secretary waiting at a modern, sleek looking desk, and she politely gives him directions to the floor where the shootings held.

 

Seungcheol doesn’t wait around in the lobby, and gets on his way.

 

Floor eight, (‘ _and three doors to the left,_ ’ the receptionist’s voice titters in his head), is busy.

 

As soon as he enters, an outfitter, _Seungkwan_ , is quick to introduce himself. He shows Seungcheol his designated wardrobe, pressing the hangers into his chest. Seungcheol changes hastily, pulling on fitted black pants and buttoning up a collared shirt. The fabric is a black cotton, but the collar and cuffs of the shirt are wool, a soft white. There are metal pieces, hooked to the side of his shirt to fall aligned with the lines of his body, against his arm, underneath his chest, over his side.

 

It’s different, but it looks good, and essentially, that’s what fashion is.

 

After he steps out of the dressing room, Seungkwan fusses over him. He unclasps the first few buttons, tugging open the shirt to show off the tense muscles of his chest. He looks Seungcheol up and down, then huffs, and starts rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

 

Seungcheol takes no offense. He's patient.  _The stylist will always do what he knows will look best on camera_ , and Seungcheol is the last in line to get in the way of that.

 

After a bit more tugging and readjusting, Seungkwan gives his final approval, a nod, curt and prideful. Seungcheol's ushered to the makeup department, and Junhui, a makeup artist, seats him with a flourished gesture.

 

He’s talkative, and moves like a blur around Seungcheol, twirling his brushes between his fingers. Junhui coos over Seungcheol’s eyelashes while he spreads a tint over his lips, patting the color in with his thumb. Conversation is led easily between them, regardless of the hands that roam over Seungcheol’s face, but soon Junhui is called over to another model, and Seungcheol is left to wait after that.

 

He watches well known models mill about. There are snacks set out, but they’re relatively untouched (very, _very_ typical). The first model is already shooting, and the lights radiate a warmth into the room, the camera humming with every photo taken.

 

The tension he’d felt earlier that morning dissipates as he fits in with the familiarity of the shoot, the rush of the staff around him, models gossiping into each other’s ears.

 

Kim Mingyu catches his eye, handsome and intimidating. Seungcheol smiles at the sight. Mingyu and him had entered modeling together, after being scouted and praised for their looks throughout their years of high school. Even before then, they close friends, growing up in the same neighborhood to ride their bikes and exchange pokemon cards underneath the shade of their backyard trees.

 

Seungcheol decides to greet him, lithely moving between other models, when he hears the flutter of a camera lense to his left.

 

He turns in time to see someone moving away from Chwe Hansol, a younger model, handsome cheekbones and pretty smile, taking backstage shots as he goes. He looks familiar, chestnut brown hair, a light gray shirt tucked into black jeans. Seungcheol almost approaches him, but he's moved on to shoot someone else, so he falls back.

 

While he sits, lost in thought, Mingyu steps up next to him. "I'm excited, Cheol," he says, hand falling easily around his waist.

 

Seungcheol lets himself get pulled into Mingyu’s side and smiles up at him. "You're always excited for a photoshoot."

 

"It's nothing compared to the runway, so it's a little more challenging." Mingyu admits, scratching his neck. He’s used to the flashes of cameras from afar, the strut showing off his long legs, dark faraway look and jutted jaw. He still feels slightly awkward, posing without direction. Seungcheol had felt that once, too.

 

Seungcheol coos. He reaches up to pinch Mingyu's cheek. "You'll do great, 'Gyu," he says, and he means it. Mingyu looks fantastic, dark and unapproachable. His eyes look dangerous, dark brown creating a striking depth, one Seungcheol knows the camera will die for.

 

Mingyu flashes his canines in his sharp, handsome smile, and even with the attractive elegance he has, to Seungcheol, he'll always look like a puppy.

 

A camera shutter clicks.

 

The two models both look towards the sound.

 

In front of them, stands the backstage photographer from before. Seungcheol assumes they're the last of his rounds, because while in conversation, they’d gravitated to the farthest corner of the room.

 

A meek voice apologizes from behind the lens, and Seungcheol smiles, soft, and turns to Mingyu. "Lets warm up?" He says, and Mingyu gives his brightest smile and nods.

 

Mingyu gets his shots taken first. “Cheol hyung, tell me if my angles are off,” he asks with his big puppy eyes, and Seungcheol can’t disagree.

 

He moves to stand behind the photographer. He's paying attention to Mingyu, but he's also listening to the clink of glasses against the screen every time the photographer presses his face to his camera.

 

The shutter goes off for a while, and Seungcheol watches past the photographer’s cheek as Mingyu’s photos load onto the screen as a preview for just a second. They all come out well, but he’d never expected anything less to begin with.

 

The photographer moves his head away from his screen to check his pictures, and his hair presses soft against Seungcheol’s cheek, from where he is behind him. Seungcheol, dazed, lets the strands tickle his skin before moving back to give him space.

 

He’s brought to reality by Mingyu, who’s draping an arm around his shoulders, looking at the photos caught on screen. “Not bad, thanks,” he says, confidence returning with the pink of his ears (It’s only Mingyu, who would blush at his own appearance). He turns to Seungcheol, his head tilting cutely. “Do you want me to stay with you, hyung?” he asks, but he’s interrupted by the call to get his makeup fixed before he goes to shoot.

 

Seungcheol bids him good luck, fully knowing he'll do well.

 

He sets himself up where Mingyu previously stood, waiting for the photographer to raise his lense back to his face.

 

“Ready?” the boy asks. Seungcheol nods. The camera blocks the photographer’s face.

 

Seungcheol gives a big pout, and when the shutter goes off, he's in his zone.

 

Fifteen minutes go by like a breeze.

 

It’s only when Mingyu is called onto the set, does Seungcheol straighten up. "Sorry for taking up your time.”

 

The photographer shakes his head, and his bangs settle over his eyelashes. It’s incredibly charming, Seungcheol thinks. "I’m set to go after this," he says with an easy smile. Seungcheol smiles back, though there's something so familiar about the photographer, and it itches in the back of his mind.

 

"I'm Choi Seungcheol," he introduces with a bow.

 

"Nice to meet you."

 

He opens his mouth to ask for the photographer’s name, when his own name is called for last minute touch ups. Seungcheol bows and turns towards Junhui, who waits impatiently, and turns back to the photographer, who’d already disappeared into the crowd of models.

 

When he finally gets called to shoot, it’s too easy.

 

Jisoo is a sweet photographer, and when he instructs Seungcheol, he doesn’t sound demanding, his voice is rather soft and melted, honeyed.

 

They finish relatively quickly because Jisoo is satisfied with all his shots. “You did well, Seungcheol,” he praises, and Seungcheol takes the compliment with a polite smile. They review his photos together for a few minutes, and then Seungcheol is pulled away by another model and thrown into conversation.

 

When he gets home, it’s already late, and Wonwoo’s text has his phone vibrating in his pocket. “ _Has it ended?”_ he asks, right as Seungcheol is unlocking his apartment door. His phone reads 8:09. He answers before getting into the shower.

 

When he gets out, Wonwoo’s in his kitchen, frying salmon. Seungcheol scrunches up his nose, because he doesn’t like the lingering smell of fish in his apartment, but Wonwoo rolls his eyes without looking up. “You need the protein--” he starts, but Seungcheol interrupts.

 

“--And it naturally burns fat, I know.” he says, and sits in the living room.

 

There’s silence, just the quiet sizzle taking up the space between them. It’s comfortable. Seungcheol lets his head fall back into seat of his couch.

 

“How did the shooting go?” Wonwoo asks, and the meat is flipped again. Seungcheol pushes himself up and pads towards the kitchen.

 

“Good,” Seungcheol says. Wonwoo sets his a piece of fish on his plate, and gives himself his own serving, and they eat while Seungcheol recounts his experience over the table.

 

“Choi Seungcheol,” Wonwoo hums, when he’s finished outlining his day, “Handsome, polite, and good at what he does. That’s why everyone loves you.”

 

Seungcheol shakes his head, but he knows he glows with the praise. He goes to bed content, and sleeps in past eight the next morning.

-

It’s around a week later, when Wonwoo forwards him an email, a cast party from Yoon Jeonghan’s shoot. “ _Go and have fun,_ ” he urges, voice impossibly deeper over the phone, “ _You need a good break, anyway.”_

 

Seungcheol opens his mouth to decline, knowing that a gym session would be the healthier option, when his phone buzzes against his counter (he can’t risk a breakout, so he leaves the call on speaker, for his skin’s sake).

 

Mingyu’s caller ID flashes over the screen. Seungcheol sighs. Wonwoo stays silent, but his smirk oozes over the receiver.

 

“I’ll be there, I guess,” Seungcheol says, and when he answers Mingyu, he’s not surprised that the younger opens without an introduction and skips straight to begging him to go.

-

In the week between the photoshoot and the party, Seungcheol goes to smaller shoots, where it’s okay if he’s 30 minutes late, because he’s _Choi Seungcheol_ (but he’s always on time, he’s still _Choi Seungcheol_ , and he’s polite and mindful of smaller companies).

 

They go by in a breeze, and the friday of the party is reality before he knows it. Seungcheol can’t say he’s excited, but he won’t say he’s not, because he knows it’ll be extravagant, and it’s just the lazy voice in him speaking (and maybe a shy one, too, though you would never expect from the outside).

 

He agrees to getting ready in Mingyu’s apartment. It’s huge, decorated in unreasonably expensive IKEA furniture, and Mingyu loves it.

 

When Seungcheol lets himself in, he hears the shower running, and plops himself down on Mingyu’s (Swedish, probably nineteen hundred dollar) couch.

 

He scrolls through twitter, liking pictures from dog accounts and rolling his eyes at the latest Vogue and ELLE updates. There are articles written about him, but he can never bring himself to read them, because they’re probably by writers are paid to cover him, and not writers who choose to. ( _Stop undermining yourself_ , Wonwoo’s voice cuts into his thoughts, _You’re acting pessimistic because you’re insecure_ ).

 

When Mingyu comes out of his room, toweling out his hair, he’s already going on about how “Hansol slept with Yoon Jeonghan’s outfitter from the shoot, isn’t that crazy?”

 

Seungcheol isn’t that big of a gossip. Models seem to have a knack for spreading rumors and sabotaging coworkers, and Seungcheol doesn’t see that point. No one really cares about _who slept together on what couch at what party_. It gets old when you hear the same name tossed around with selected randoms as a form of knockout. Enough bad rap following your name, and you’re out of hiring range, no matter how well your body fits the standards.

 

It’s a cruel guise of blacklisting.

 

Mingyu continues to ramble about the affair. Seungcheol sighs and puts his phone down, twisting his torso to face the younger. “Mingyu,” he says, to get his attention. “Isn’t Hansol your friend?”

 

"Well, yeah," Mingyu says, confusion tinting his voice. "He's your friend too. I'm letting you know so you don't make those big eyes at the boy he's currently trying to finesse."

 

Seungcheol twists back to his original position and shrugs. Mingyu has good intentions.

-

After fifteen minutes of doing, well, not much, the two work up the energy to get changed.

 

Mingyu looks _hot_ , a casual navy pinstriped suit framing the loose collared shirt he wears underneath. Seungcheol goes for a more casual look, tight jeans accenting his thighs, a gray sweater fitted against his chest.

 

After they finish their makeup, they make quite the pair, dark eyes holding intense gazes, lips tinted red. They take pictures (“ _We’re models_ ”, Mingyu says, “ _It’s what we_ have _to do!”_ ) before heading to the lobby, a cab stalled for them outside.

 

It takes a half an hour to get to the side of the city where the party takes place. Huge, black cars roll up to a grand staircase, and when Mingyu and Seungcheol step out, there are cameras flashing.

 

There’s a guard at the door, and when he sees Mingyu and Seungcheol, he nods and lets them in. The party is already wild, elegant ambient lighting, models dressed in their flashiest clothing, campaign flutes held in dainty hands.

 

At their entrance, people approach the duo. They titter about their outfits and ask what Mingyu knows about who Hansol went home with after the shoot. Mingyu feigns knowing nothing. Seungcheol glues on a smile.

 

Internally, Seungcheol groans. It’s _that_ kind of party, where you have the option to get shitfaced and left alone or sober and left to please the kiss ups of the modeling field.

 

After thirty minutes, Mingyu sets a hand down on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Minghao is starting up a game of kings and I don’t want to miss out, wanna come?” he asks, low in Seungcheol’s ear, but when he pulls his puppy eyes, Seungcheol knows better than to agree. He’s not in the mood to get messy tonight, and too much alcohol messes with the balance of his skin.

 

Seungcheol waves Mingyu off, unafraid to entertain questions and conversation for a little while longer.

 

A little while turns into two hours, and Seungcheol starts to feel tired of hands running over his arms and laughter hidden behind hands, paired with long, knowing looks. It’s exhausting, and he can’t force himself to even pretend to be interested in the drama. He finds himself zoning out of the discussions, only to wander to another group and repeat the same process there.

 

He interrupts the current conversation that he’d been thrown into (about a local model, and if they had _really_ turned down a signature Yves Saint Laurent shoot) to ask, “Has anyone seen the host?”

 

Attention shifts quickly. Most shake their heads, and one model, a drunken flush covering her cheeks, says, “He must be too famous to attend his own parties, I don’t think anyone’s seen him around.”

 

Seungcheol nods, but he feels a little absent. He floats around the party, only laughing with other models when they pull him in to whisper some rumor in his ear, or to pose with him while  a camera flash burns into his retinas.

 

Eventually, and to his own relief, Seungcheol finds himself nearing the quieter corner of the party. The main lights are off, only pretty blue light casting shadows and creating silhouettes. There are tables set out, with tall seats, a classy style, and there’s a hush over the area.

 

Seungcheol is drifting a little, murmuring hellos to the models he passes, when he thinks he sees the head photographer from the shoot, standing next to a table.

 

He taps on his shoulder, and when the other turns towards him, laughing from the conversation he'd been pulled from, drink in hand, Seungcheol thinks he looks a little mellow than usual. His coiffed hair falls over his eyes in a charming way, and his smile curls wider, gaze openly curious.

 

"Hong Jisoo," Seungcheol breathes, and the photographers eyes dazzle with something knowing. "Choi Seungcheol," he introduces himself with a small bow. "I'm a model from the shoot."

 

"Ah, just Joshua is fine."

 

Seungcheol blinks, and remembers Jisoo- Joshua's, past.

 

"L.A., right?" He asks, voice polite.

 

The photographer across from him hiccups a laugh. "You've done your research, huh?"

 

Seungcheol, feeling a little more comfortable nods, bold. "You have to, in this industry."

 

Joshua muses and nods in agreement, eyes glazing a faraway daze.

 

"Have you seen the host?" Seungcheol takes the opportunity to ask.

 

"Ah, Yoon Jeonghan?" Another voice asks, smooth, from behind Joshua.

 

Leaning into view is the backstage photographer. He’s missing his round glasses, and his eyes look sharp, skimming down over Seungcheol. His dark hair is combed up to show his forehead, and paired with a loose silk shirt, falling to reveal his collarbones, he looks like a completely different person.

 

His glass is raised to his lips, and he quirks an eyebrow at Seungcheol. When he takes a sip, whatever alcohol he's drinking shields his knowing smile.

 

Seungcheol blinks, and it clicks into place.

 

Yoon Jeonghan, most desired and envied designer of their century, is sipping what looks like a fruity drink, eyeing him up at his own party, completely hidden in plain sight.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for the slow start;; next chap should be more eventful :)  
> my twt is @cupidhvc ur welcome to say hi!  
> (unbetad sorry for mistakes)


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